CLUEDO
by AlphaBetaSoup
Summary: Three. They had just three goals. Escape the mansion. Follow the clues. Find the Murderer. AU/BETA.


_Hello. It is I, Beta here with an ALL NEW STORY!_

_I must warn you that this is going to be a VERY long author's note so I am giving you full permission to skip it and go on with the story (because I'm just that nice) but I would prefer you to read it. :)_

* * *

Okay,_ first off I'd like to say hi. For those who know me, great to "see" you again. For those who don't, I'm the Beta portion of AlphaBetaSoup. I've written for Phineas and Ferb before so you can check out some of my other stories if you'd like._

Next,_ this story is VERY different from any other story I've ever posted. I believe I mentioned on "That Game Show!" that I wanted to try other genres or something similar to that. This is my attempt at a mystery fic. There will be other things like action, friendship, romance, etc. But that's not what I mean by different. This isn't the kind of cutesy stuff I normally write that makes you go D'awww. I'm pretty sure this is also the longest chapter I've ever posted, excluding the words counted from my exceptionally long author's note._

_Please keep in mind that this story is rated T. There's some mild language (nothing too extreme. trust me, you'll never find the F or B word in any of my fanfics. I can't even say them IRL)._

_Now onto explaining the actual story..._

_This fanfic is based off the board game, Clue (or Cluedo). Most, if not all, of you have played/heard of it but if not..._

_Prof. Plum, Mr. Green, Colonel Mustard, Miss Scarlett, Mrs. Peacock, and Ms. White are stuck in the murder mansion. It's up to you to figure out which one of them killed Mr. Black (or Boddy), what they used to kill him, and which room he was killed in._

_... or something like that. This is also based off on the TV mini series "Clue" on the Hub. BEST SHOW EVER! No lie! Go and watch it! XD_

_This story, like Firecracker, is AU. The gang don't know each other. Everyone is around sixteen-ish. I haven't chosen a specific age yet. Melissa (We Call it Maze) is in this story as well. She's Buford's "sister." She is around four-ish in this fanfic. The only other thing you really need to know right now is that Phineas and Ferb are new step-brothers meaning their parents just recently got married. _

_I'm not telling you which characters are which but I will tell you that hints for the first three are mentioned in the chapter so it won't be that hard to figure them out. Other characters that are not in the main six (I'll tell you now that Baljeet is not) will appear later as other characters (by other characters I mean exsisting ones that everyone forgets about such as Peach, Grey, and Brown)._

_That's all for now. There's a shorter author's note at the bottom. Yay! More annoying rambling from me! :D_

* * *

_Disclaimer!_

**Random Guy: Aren't you a little young to own Phineas and Ferb?**

_Me: Yes, yes I am. That's why I don't._

* * *

_A day spent without the sight or sound of beauty, the contemplation of mystery, or the search of truth or perfection is a poverty-stricken day; and a succession of such days is fatal to human life.  
~ Lewis Mumford_

* * *

_**T**_**he sun peaked out from under the dull blue curtains, blinding Ginger's already sightless eyes as she meditated.**

It was an odd morning ritual she often did as a stress reliever. Each morning before breakfast she would sit quietly in the middle of the mirror room, eyes closed and legs crossed over one another. It gave her the indefinable feeling of both peace and understanding, something her own parents fail to provide her most of the time.

For Ginger, meditation seemed too out of character for her liking. Because of this, she hated to think about what she was doing. Whenever she did, she felt stupid. Quiet definitely wasn't her thing, neither was being alone. Heck, just the thought of being in an uncivilized place scared the crap out of her. Yet once she started, the thought of giving up her peace was more distant than the sun.

So she eventually gave up thinking about it altogether.

Ginger was partway through the first ten minutes of her ritual when she heard the sound. It was the faint noise of cries, most likely coming from the screening room where her older sister, Stacy, often watched her hour-long soap operas. Ginger herself used to watch them as well, up until the fatal day she decided that there actually _was _such thing as too much drama.

At first it was easy to ignore sounds of their built-in flat screen, but as time went on the noise slowly became more and more unbearable to the point when the mirror glass began waving around like it was about to shatter. It was as if it were reflecting noise rather than sight.

Ginger placed both hands gingerly onto her now throbbing ears. The sound was almost as bad as the ultrasound glitch, one of the many problems the newest MiPhone possessed. It was the same phone she so stupidly purchased and was now unable to return due to the "thirty day return policy". She turned to the direction of the door, just about ready to complain to her sister about the volume when she noticed her old_ Louis Vuitton_ purse and realized that it _was _her MiPhone_._

She groaned in irritation. Her sister often warned her to turning off her cell phone when performing tasks as focused as meditation but Ginger, being the stubborn teenager she was, always did otherwise. She quickly grabbed her phone and turned it to vibrate—the less annoying setting—before giving it a satisfactory smirk and placing it back into the warmth of her _Louis Vuitton_ even though it definitely didn't deserve it.

With her phone taken care of, Ginger went back to meditating, ignoring the horrid sound still lingering around in the back of her mind and the fact that she most likely lost a large proportion of her hearing. She lasted only another ten more minutes until she was once again interrupted by her MiPhone and another one of its "minor glitches."

This time it affected her posture, as the ground below her violently began shaking. She screamed in frustration as she wobbled back over to where her cell phone lay in the clutches of her favourite purse. This time Ginger checked her phone to see who had texted her, as the earthquake glitch was fairly rare and only happened when someone marked their text as "urgent."

As she hastily tapped away at faded screen, her once annoyed face slowly turned into one of confusion. She strongly suspected that the text was from Wendy or one of her other A-List friends, who often pointlessly texted her with news on the latest celebrity gossip and such, and was surprised to see the text message not only came from a number she failed to recognize, but was also sent from a person titled E.E. Institute.

_**Party at my mansion, you in?**_

Ginger smirked. Obviously a wrong number.

Her first thought was to text the person back and tell them that they had made a mistake. E.E. Institute? It sounded like a name for an old folk's home. Besides, she didn't want the person texting her about random crap she didn't care about. For all she knew, they could be texting her about illegal activities or worse.

Then she rethought the whole situation. Despite the fact that she lived in one, Ginger had never been to an actual mansion party. The closest she had ever been was serving her mother's guests at a work party, and that had been pure torture. Besides, showing up at a party uninvited would make her the talk of the century when she told her friends. Popularity was a must at her school and Ginger wouldn't give up a chance to be number one even if it killed her. Besides, she could always block the number afterwards if things got ugly.

She thought about her family. She didn't have to tell Stacy about it. Stacy would try to convince her not to go or in the very least insist on coming with her. Her parents, well, they wouldn't give a damn. Ginger had a chance at this and she wasn't going to let it pass just like that.

Before her conscience had a chance to make its move, Ginger texted "E.E. Institute" back with her two favourite words.

_**Totes. Details?**_

She was surprised to find that her cell phone buzzed again almost immediately after pressing the send button. Within seconds she had the date, which was July third, the time, and even what to wear. The only thing she didn't have was the location, which Ginger found rather odd considering she wouldn't be able to show up without it. Then again, E.E. Institute probably assumed she already had the address. After all, the invite wasn't _really _for her.

_**Where at?**_

She got another reply almost immediately, but this time it wasn't the answer she expected.

_**A blue limo will be there to pick you up at exactly nine o'clock pm. Do not be late. Do not tell anyone where you are going. Do not text this number back. Ever. And definitely do not bother giving me your address, Ginger Hirano. I WILL find you...**_

* * *

_**I**_**f Ferb hadn't already been sitting on the floor, he was almost certain that he would've fallen out of his chair.**

He scrolled through the e-mail repeatedly, his eyes sharper than a hawk's. Unfortunately the words were no different than they were the first time.

_**Don't bother giving me your address Ferb Fletcher. I WILL find you... **_

What kind of a sick joke was this? How the heck did this crazy E.E. Institute guy know his name? At first Ferb thought it was some lame prank Phineas and one of his other friends pulled on him, but that wasn't possible. Ferb never gave Phineas is e-mail. In fact, Ferb hadn't said a word directly to Phineas since their parents got together, which had been exactly three months ago.

"What's wrong?"

Ferb jumped. He had forgotten that he wasn't alone. Sitting on his right doing yoga was Vanessa Doofenshmirtz, his very attractive female friend. She had invited him over to her house for the day, as he had told her that his parents were going out and he didn't want to spend the hours with his step-brother.

Ferb still remembered the day the two had met. It was a rainy April night. He had bumped into the beautiful girl outside the local convenience store where he had applied for a job only a week before. She was about to pick up a flattened cardboard box in the corner—a corner that managed to remain dry despite all the rain—but stopped short when she noticed him eying her.

"_I'm sorry, is this box yours?"_

Ferb chuckled at the memory. Vanessa had been the first person to make him laugh since he had moved from Great Britain to Danville. Unlike most people, who often assumed he was either mute or socially awkward, Vanessa managed to see through him. She _knew _he went through a traumatizing experience when he was younger and she _knew _how badly it affected him, even before he had fully opened up to her. Most people would've found it suspicious, how she could know so much by hearing so little, but with Vanessa everything made sense.

"Ferb, is something wrong?" she repeated, this time more slowly.

"It's nothing," Ferb muttered quietly.

"Oh." Vanessa gave him her ever-so-common knowing glance, but quickly shrugged it off and went back to her strange yoga poses. Although everything in her eyes were transparent, she was never one to pester another.

Ferb turned back to the lime green laptop. This e-mail, to put it mildly, was strange. Never in his life had he seen an e-mail so descriptive. E-mails weren't supposed to be descriptive. A simple "hi, how are you?" along with a smiley face and _maybe _an "e-mail me back" sort of thing, but nothing more.

Not to mention the fact that it was from a person he'd never met, inviting him to come to a place he'd never heard of.

Ferb closed his eyes and tried to be logical. Maybe they typed in the wrong e-mail. Maybe the invite was meant for another Ferb. Although it was unlikely, there was always that sliver of impossibility lingering in the air, waiting to be breathed in by an unsuspecting civilian.

No, there was no way. There was _just no freakin' way. _The invitation said Ferb _Fletcher _and, even if it didn't, how many other Ferbs were there in the world anyways? His mother had given him that nickname for a reason. Ferb Fletcher—so his name would be unique.

_Just. Like. Him._

"Ferb," Vanessa sat up suddenly, looking at the green-haired teen with an expression that couldn't be read as anything else but worry, "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes," Ferb mumbled, getting slightly irritated. If it had been Phineas asking all the questions he would've waltzed out of the room without a second glace. "I am fine. Why do you keep asking?"

Vanessa shrugged as she readjusted her ponytail. "You're talking to yourself. People don't normally do that—at least, not when there's actually someone in the room they can talk to."

Ferb smirked and gave her an apologetic glance. Vanessa politely waved it off in response.

"So," she said instead, "Who are you e-mailing?"

Ferb adjusted his body as so Vanessa wasn't able to see the screen. "It's just a friend." The e-mail said not to tell anyone where he was going—if he was even going at all—and Ferb didn't want to risk his chances. As long as he didn't know who this E.E. Institute freak was, there was always the possibility that he could be a rapist or a murderer. If anything was going to happen to him, he did not want Vanessa to get involved. For, if anything dare happen to her, Ferb wasn't sure what he would do with himself.

Vanessa smiled at Ferb and started on a new pose, _the Dancer_. "It's nice that you've managed to keep in touch with your friends back home. Britain seems like a nice place unlike Gimmelshtump, which is—to put it mildly—a living hell with trees..."

Politely nodding, although he had not heard a single word she had just said, Ferb turned back to his laptop and the creepy e-mail. Before he had time to change his mind he scrolled to cursor down to the reply button.

_**Who are you?**_

Within seconds he got a reply.

_**Whoever you want me to be, Ferb.**_

He felt more and more goose bumps rise on the back of his neck between each word he read. _Whoever you want me to be. _What the heck does that even mean? Working with the small bit of courage he had left that weren't washed over with fear, Ferb clicked on the reply button one last time.

_**If you don't tell me who I am then I'm not going.**_

_Send. _

One minute passed. Then another. Ferb tried not to let his impatience get in the way of the conversation Vanessa was trying to start with him. Finally, after several minutes, he got another reply. A reply that wasn't anything he ever would have expected in his life.

_**I cannot force you to come, Ferb. The choice must be made by you. I must warn you, though. E has a list of things that he wants and he ALWAYS gets what he wants, even if it puts others at harm. You are currently on that list. I'm not saying that anything will happen to you particularly, but I'd hate to see anything happen to your poor, precious Vanessa Doofenshmirtz. What, you may ask, might happen to her if you fail to show up? You can never be too sure. A wound in her ribcage, a slit down her throat, perhaps nothing at all. I will tell you one thing though; it won't be anything that hasn't already happened to your mother.**_

The screen went black.

* * *

_**T**_**he moment Buford's phone blinked yellow, he knew something was up.**

No one ever texted him. No one had a reason to. Despite all the parties he went to, Buford was a rather introverted person. He was popular, but he didn't have many friends. He lived a pretty awkward life.

The first time E.E. texted him, he thought it was one of Brigitte's "close" friends. Naturally Buford texted back, asking the date and other important information. The second time Buford thought it was a prank. A limo would pick him up? He was expected to wear a tux? He wasn't even sure he owned a tux! He texted back once again, this time telling E.E. to screw off. Whoever this freak was, he seriously needed to get a life.

The third time E.E. Institute texted him things got a little personal.

_**I cannot force you to come, Buford. The choice must be made by you. I must warn you, though. E has a list of things that he wants and he ALWAYS gets what he wants, even if it puts others at harm. You are currently on that list. I'm not saying that anything will happen to you particularly, but I'd hate to see anything happen to poor baby Melissa. She is, how do you put it, the very thing you live for, is she not?**_

Buford's eyes kept moving back and forth between his crap phone and the back of his pickup truck where Melissa was resting.

No, Melissa was not the very thing he lived for; she was the only thing.

Although they were not related in any way, young Melissa was the center of his universe. Always looking on the bright side of things, not caring that they lived in an ugly mustard-coloured pickup truck that he had crashed a few too many times or that his girlfriend hated her with a burning passion. To Melissa life was an adventure, something she and Buford would conquer together.

Together.

Buford wouldn't dare to even _think_ of what they might do to her if he didn't show up, but if he decided that he _was _going, where would Melissa stay? He couldn't leave her alone and leaving her with Brigitte was _completely _out of the question.

That meant...

No. Oh heck no. Brigitte had suggested it several times and Buford had rejected it just as many. There was no way Buford was putting Melissa in the care of someone else. He didn't trust anyone with her. Not even her own _mother_, not likely she ever bothered to visit or anything. Melissa was all he had left in life; there was no way he was giving her up. But really, what other choice did he have?

"DAMN IT!" Buford screamed in frustration. "WHY DOES LIFE HAVE TO BE SO FREAKIN' DIFFICULT!?" He rapidly banged his fist on the steering wheel in full rage, loud deafening blares coming from the horn. He wasn't sure exactly what he was doing; freaking out wouldn't change anything and he knew it. All he was really doing was attracting angry drivers and giving them something to scream about. Speaking of angry drivers...

Buford rolled his eyes at the girl in the passenger seat of a silver Volvo, one hand clasping the arm of the driver—possibly her boyfriend _of the week_—and the other sticking out of the window, middle finger up at him. He recognized her as Colette, a girl he had dated for an exact month before dumping her for Brigitte who, at the time, looked a lot hotter and seemed a lot less clingy.

That was before he saw the crazy, alcoholic, let's-make-out-every-thirty-seconds, still hot but twice as clingy as Colette, side of Brigitte.

Buford wasn't going to lie—he did drink every now and then. Not enough to get him drunk per say, but enough to keep him satisfied for the night. He also enjoyed his and Brigitte's make-out sessions, but no more than a boy his age would. What he did not like about his girlfriend was how pushy she was; always pressuring him into things he didn't want to do. Like the time she got him to steal cigars for her at the local corner store and he got caught. When he called her out on it she just laughed and said, "_There's always next time_." Buford was no counsellor or anything, but even _he _knew there was something very wrong with their relationship.

Buford sighed and shut his cell phone off, checking the back of his pickup truck again. Melissa was still there, curled up into a tiny ball, fast asleep in her favourite red footie pyjamas. It was amazing how she was able to sleep through all the screaming.

He smiled at the younger girl. Buford would do whatever needed to be done to keep her safe, even if it killed him. If it involved hurting her otherwise, especially if it killed him.

Pulling out of the parking lot Buford made a left turn, taking him down a street full of sour memories.

It may not have been the best choice for him, but it had to be done. For Melissa.

o.O.o

_**M**_**ama Biff's was a monster of a place. They swallowed up children and spat them out the moment they turned eighteen.**

Buford rang the doorbell twice. A woman in her mid-to-late thirties answered the door. She had on a white apron with multi-coloured stains and splotches that left Buford to assume she was making dinner a few too many hours early.

"Buford Van Stomm?" It wasn't really much of a question. He was pretty damn sure she knew it was him. He knew who she was too, the new chef. He recognized her face but couldn't quite put a name to it. "What brings you here? I—"

"I'm not staying," Buford interrupts, "I need you to take care of my sister while I do a few... things." He mentally slapped himself. A few things? _Now that didn't sound suspicious at all._

Luckily the woman didn't question it. "I didn't know you had a sister—oh! Do you mean your—"

"She's not mine," Buford cut in once again, kicking at the cement stained with chalk-drawings, "Sugar and Dylan's."

The woman jumped slightly at the sound of Sugar's name but quickly shook it off. "I see..." she muttered softly instead, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

"So... will you take her or not?" Buford was getting impatient. The woman opened her mouth to respond, only to be interrupted.

"Of course we'll take her, you idiot!" a girl of about twelve stepped out from behind the woman, her chestnut brown ponytail bobbing about. "Just look at the poor thing. You probably haven't fed her in months! Who do you think you are, an unstable jerk like yourself? Trying to provide for a child who isn't even _yours_—"

"Clementine," the woman gave a stern warning glance at the freckle-faced preteen. Clementine placed her hands on her hips but stopped anyways. "_Lowlife_," she mouthed at Buford before storming off.

Buford rolled his eyes. He remembered how the two of them used to spend time together, back when she actually liked him. That was before he had run away. Before he had Melissa.

"We'll take your girl, Buford. Just let me go get some of the papers. Do you... still see Sugar?"

He shook his head.

"Oh, I see. I'll... be right back..."

As the woman walked back into the house, Buford went back to his truck to get Melissa. He was about to open the trunk when he noticed something strange.

The entire outside of the trunk was covered in mud. Normally Buford would think nothing of it as he never bothered to clean his truck unless absolutely necessary, but this time it was different. This time there was writing in the mud. Big bold letters that looked as if someone had written them with the tip of their finger.

**GOOD CHOICE, BUFORD. I SUPPORT YOUR DECISION.**

Underneath it was a handprint and a signature.

_E.E. Institute_

* * *

_Ginger's messed up cell phone was actually more than just a way for her to get the text. It will actually affect the story. Ferb's mysterious past with his mom will also be explored. As for Buford..._

_No, Melissa is not his child. She really is Sugar and Dylan's. You'll find out more about that later as well._

_That's all for now! I hope you enjoy and I apologizing for my blabbing. I swear, none of my author's notes for this story will ever be this long again unless it's VERY important._

_Love you guys,_

_BETA :D_

_P.S. Alpha and I have a Tumblr! The link is on our profile!_


End file.
